Free Dunston Falls by Al Lamanda

try to touch the child’s hand he saw in his mind’s image. Instinctively, Peck knew the child was in some kind of mortal danger.
    As their fingers met, the fire suddenly burst into an uncontrolled, wall of searing hot flames. Peck felt a stabbing sensation of pain in his head. An explosion echoed somewhere in the background and the chaotic vision vanished into darkness, leaving Peck breathless and drenched in a cold sweat. He lay still for a minute, trying to breathe and regain control of his muscles.
    Then, pushing himself to all fours, Peck slowly crawled toward the bathroom. Gasping for air, he reached the toilet where the bile in his stomach rose up and forced him to vomit until his stomach was empty and the muscles cramped.
    Rolling onto his back, Peck looked at the ceiling. “Ah, Jesus, Deb,” he said aloud, and then began to weep openly.
     
    Peck loaded the fireplace with wood and built a roaring fire to warm the house. He poured a drink of Deb’s expensive scotch at the corner bar, then took a seat on the sofa before the fire. As he smoked a cigarette, he replayed the episode from the bedroom in his mind. Whatever the hell that was, it was no headache and no amount of aspirin was going to fix it. After finishing the scotch, he stretched out on the sofa and exhaustion overtook him.
     
    Peck was asleep on the sofa in the living room when Bender and McCoy entered the house. McCoy touched Peck’s shoulder and gently shook him. Peck opened his eyes, sat up and looked at his watch.
    “It’s five in the morning,” Bender said.
    “The chains took a while,” McCoy explained. “Sorry we were so late getting back.”
    Bender handed Peck a mug of coffee from the kitchen. “I made it before we woke you up,” he said.
    “I must have dozed off.” Peck took the mug, blew on it a few times and cautiously sipped the steaming hot coffee.
    “The ambulance is outside,” McCoy said. “Jay and I will carry out the body, if you’d like?”
    Peck nodded and took another sip from the mug.
    McCoy and Bender went to the stairs where the doctor picked up a body bag.
    Peck lit a cigarette and watched them ascend the stairs to the bedroom. He could hear Jay and McCoy lift the body of Deb Robertson and place her into the bag. There was a moment of silence, followed by the loud zip of the body bag.
    As McCoy and Bender carried the lifeless body of Deb Robertson down the stairs and to the front door, Peck stared into the fire and choked back a tear.
     
    In the hospital lounge, McCoy listened carefully as Peck described his nightmarish attack on the floor of Deb Robertson’s bedroom. Every few seconds, McCoy scribbled a note on a pad and nodded his head.
    When Peck was finished, McCoy stood up. “Let’s go out back.”
    Peck followed McCoy to an examination room. “Take you shirt off and have a seat,” McCoy said.
    Peck removed his shirt and tee shirt and sat on the examination table. McCoy picked up a small flashlight. “Open your mouth, Dave.”
    For fifteen minutes, McCoy examined Peck. Blood pressure, heart, pulse rate, ears, nose and throat, reflexes, he checked it all and even felt for tumors.
    “Put your shirt on,” McCoy said when he was finished.
    Peck reached for his tee shirt. “Well?”
    “I don’t know,” McCoy confessed.
    “You don’t know?”
    “I’m a doctor, not a miracle worker, Dave.”
    “But something must have caused that? I didn’t wind up with my head in the toilet for no reason.”
    “There’s a reason,” McCoy confessed. “There always is. I just don’t know what it is at the moment.”
    Peck slipped his shirt on and tucked it into his pants.
    “Look,” McCoy said. “Other than your blood pressure being slightly elevated at the moment, and that’s understandable, you’re tip top. I see no cause for alarm, but I’m going to call Maine Medical Center and schedule an appointment with a neurologist.”
    “A neurologist? Why, what do you think is wrong with me?”
    “I don’t